My Life in the Fat Lane
Nothing about me matters — except how I look.
I’m plus size.
I have big boobs and a tummy, thunder thighs and a humongous ass. Seats are almost always too small for my butt.
Still, I do yoga and sports. I like doing my hair and makeup and being flirty. Or doing dirty work or drinking disgusting beer. I also love kids. My friends would call me a sweetheart, a completely honest and wholesome friend.
But few try to get to know the real me.
People lump me into a category that I don’t fit into — no pun intended. I’ve been called fat and lazy my whole life. As though those are the only two traits I possess.
But I am neither. I do sports, yoga and dirty work, after all.
If anything’s lazy it’s my thyroid, which doesn’t work right.
In a piece called “Love Your Fat Self” a woman named Gareth is described as intelligent, witty and beautiful. But plus sized:
On paper, she is the perfect girl. To the ignorant, naked eye, she is flawed.
And a lot of people want me to think I’m flawed.
One summer a friend and I spent countless hours in a video chat room called Chatroulette, where you meet people from all around the world. But being plus sized next to a beautiful, spunky redhead doesn’t get you much positive attention. Men would say “ew” and call me “fat” and “ugly.”
Geez, I can get that just walking down a nearby street.
Or at work.
In fact, when I worked at a plus sized clothing shop I hid from the door because I didn’t want anyone to think, “Oh, the fat chick works at a fat chick clothing store.”
And my ex called me “fat ass.” That’s why he’s my ex.
I developed an eating disorder after that bad relationship. I never had a real meal for four months — but I only gained weight.
Women who are teased about their size often develop eating disorders, so I’m not alone.
But while plus size women are put down, plus size men may be seen as stronger, more confident, intimidating and even more independent.
Why do people inflict abuse on each other? Why does my pain give them pleasure?
Everyday I wonder: Why should it matter?
My weight is not me.
This was written by one of my students who gave me permission to post it on my blog.
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